


Dying Hearts

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-11
Updated: 2015-05-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 03:19:55
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,898
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3921013
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Shoot are happily married. Suddenly Root files for divorce & Shaw can't understand why. Shaw overhears Harold & Root talking,the truth revealed that Root has a severe heart condition & only has a few months to live,she'll rather have Shaw hate her than know the truth. Shaw's whole world comes crashing down. They have an argument & finally a real conversation & Root comforts her telling her everything will be fine. Shaw doesn't accept it,goes to extreme measures to save Root. Happy ending plz..</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dying Hearts

“I’ll be back in a little bit,” Root calls out to Shaw as she leans in the kitchen doorway. Her arms are folded lightly, and she watches the ebony-clothed woman with kind eyes. Shaw looks up from the sandwich she’s making, slight questioning in her eyes as she puts the butter knife down.

“Want a sandwich for the road?” Shaw asks, gesturing to the counter filled with a wide array of ingredients, stepping around the island. She slouches over on one leg, hands on her hips with her eyes on Root. She takes in Root’s dark, wavy hair; dazzling eyes; and soft lips as they pull into a small smile.

“Actually,” Root says, voice pleasant but apologetic, “I’m having lunch with Harold. That’s where I’m going now.” Shaw nods, eyes searching the kitchen before coming back to Root’s.

“Is it about Her?” Shaw asks, searching Root’s eyes for an answer. Things had been quiet lately, fairly few numbers, yet Detective Fusco and John Reese had been swamped with hits and murders. All of them were on edge.

“Something like that,” Root replies, scrunching up her nose sweetly, putting her hands on either of Shaw’s forearms. She stops, fingers just barely grazing Shaw’s skin, and her eyebrows knit in confusion. Her lip twitches down and her chest tightens, throat closing with burning lungs.

“Root?” 

* * *

 

Shaw squints up into Root’s eyes, moving away from her hands. She brings her own to Root’s jacket, tugging her closer to get a better look.

But, just as quickly as it came, the wave passes, releasing Root’s chest and lungs. She sucks in a shaky breath, blinking rapidly. Her lips press together, eyes becoming slightly distant with thought. Shaw shakes her slightly.

“Hey, what was that?” Shaw asks, forcing the worry back down her throat. She can feel her face twisted in concern, and wishes she could set it back to a casual countenance. Root’s eyes are like glass marbles, and they slowly slide down to meet Shaw. They flicker with recognition, then become lively once more. She smiles at Shaw, but it doesn’t quite meet her eyes, which appear to be in a different pain than before.

“She uh- said I gotta go,” Root says quickly, starting to turn away. Shaw holds firm to her jacket, keeping her stationary.

“What was it  _really_?” Shaw insists, and Root turns her face away, smiling with a sort of disbelief. She gives an inaudible laugh before turning back to Shaw.

“I really need to go,” Root says, shaking her head, sorrow flickering momentarily in her eyes. Again, she goes to turn away, and again Shaw holds her jacket. Shaw pulls in, kissing her softly. Root melts at the action, every muscle uncoiling.

Shaw pulls back, and Root instantly feels a coldness in the place Shaw was-  _should_ \- be. Root’s eyes glow vibrantly, but there is an underlying agony far worse than before.

“I’ll see you later, Sam.” This time, Shaw lets her slip away. She stands in the kitchen, listening to Root’s footsteps as they click down the hall. Then, the door creaks open; snaps shut. She hears the sound of keys in the lock, and finally turns away.

 _What’s up with her?_  Shaw thinks to herself, coming back to her sandwich.  _Is she alright? She seems… off. Is it me?_

Shaw finishes putting lunch together, then pushes herself onto the counter to contemplate. She thinks back, all the way back to when it happened.

_We got married._

It was a process to say the least, but it was a good one; one worth the while. To Shaw, everything seemed great. Not much had changed with marriage, they’d lived together for some time, been together even longer. Shaw wasn’t even into the idea, she was content with a relationship at best.  _Getting to that position was pulling teeth enough,_  Shaw recalls with a laugh. Not feeling- no- feeling was already there. Expressing; that was the hard part. And after so much time of pushing the feeling down, it finally shot back up, boiling over the edges. Yes, a relationship she could take, but marriage? That was something she never saw for herself, relationship or not. However, she could see it in Root. She could see her happiness in just being together, how absolutely content.  _But I wanted to do something more_. She wanted to show Root she cares, knowing how bad she is at that.

_It was the best decision I ever made._

Seeing the look on Root’s face when she proposed the idea- the excitement, the joy, the love. They had been married only a few months, but things were rather wonderful. Things were about the same as when they were dating, but in the same token it was different.

Shaw spins the wedding band on her finger subconsciously, smile on her troubled face. But it falters.  _Is she sick?_ Something in Root’s eyes reflected pain, and she seemed upset at leaving. Part of Shaw thinks the sadness was at having to leave, but a darker part of her thinks the sadness was at having to stay.

A phone rings from the other room, jarring Shaw from her thoughts. Looking down, she sees a mostly eaten sandwich in her hands. Pushing the rest of it into her mouth, she slides off the counter, wiping her hands down the front of her jeans, following the sound.

She steps into the living room and sees a cellphone dancing along the side table. It’s Root’s. Intrigued, Shaw walks over, swallowing the large bite, and brings it into her hands.  _The Mandel Law Firm? Why does she have this number? Why are they calling?_ A nervous tingling takes hold of her fingers, and she hits the answer button with a slight tremble.

“Hello?”

“Hello, Mrs. Groves- you see I’m using  _that_  title now,” a man rattles off on the other end. “Any- _who_ , I was just calling to confirm your file. I know you’re coming for the papers today, but Thursday still good to come in?”

“Come in for wh- file  _what_?” Shaw asks, barely keeping her calm. She sees red at this man’s voice, frustrated and angered at being left in the dark.

“Your meeting Thursday?” He reminds her cautiously. “You know… You wanted to grab those divorce papers?”

 _Divorce papers_. The words hit Shaw like a hollow point bullet to the chest. It is a knife in her heart and acid in her throat. The words hold her down in chains under twenty feet of water, drowning her, letting her lungs burn and her muscles burn and her everything burn. The room spins.  _Divorce papers._

“Hello? Ma'am? Ma'am, are you-” Shaw hangs up, then places the phone down delicately, as if doing anything too hard could shatter her entirely. She walks- no staggers- away from the side table, holding on to the wall for support. Nothing- no bullet or punch or torture- had ever hit her so hard.

She gulps in a breath, closing her eyes tight. When she opens them again, she is composed. Her breath is steady and her body rigid. Her eyes are burning hot, anger taking place of all the broken hurt inside.

_____\ If Your Number’s Up /_____

It had been three days straight out of Hell. Her temper was raging, eyes spitting fire each time Root’s phone rang. Root watched her cautiously, trying to break Shaw out of the mood, but never sure how. Shaw was torn of how to go about it all. Part of her wanted to be kind, maybe change Root’s mind about the ordeal, but every time she tried, she could only hear the man’s voice ringing in her ears.

_How could she not tell me?_

Shaw watches Root in the kitchen, sees her doing busy-work, anything to stay away from the living room.  _To stay away from me._ Root looks up, sees Shaw watching, and tries to smile. It comes out in a pained grimace.

Root’s hand snakes up to her chest, and she looks like someone broken. She looks as if her heart is dying.  _You’re not alone on that one_ , Shaw says to herself bitterly.

Root coughs, then turns away, wiping down a counter top she’s cleaned three times. Shaw can feel guilt eating away at her mind. She’d been cold shouldering Root, and Root seemed to have no clue why.  _You ought to know,_  Shaw had grumbled at least a dozen times to herself, but Root was nothing more than oblivious and hurt. Even knowing that Root wants a divorce- going to file them in tomorrow of all things- she loathed being so harsh to her.  _Anyone else? No problem. But this is different. Root is different._

Shaw stands, wiping her hands down her pant fronts with slight trepidation. She slinks into the kitchen, leaning up against the back wall with her eyes following Root’s movements. When Root turns around, she freezes, pupils dilating in surprise.

“I ever tell you, you need a cat bell?” Root asks, smile radiant. Then, she realizes what she’s doing and it falls; she looks away, wiping at the counter top. Shaw steps forward, putting her hand atop Root’s to keep her from scrubbing in the same small circles. Root looks at her, and Shaw’s eyes are intense on hers.

“I’ll have to get on that,” Shaw tells her. Root looks down at their feet, not knowing what to say. “Is there, uh, anything you want to tell me?”

Root’s eyes flicker in panic, but she forces a smile to her face. “That I love you.”

Shaw feels a flutter in her heart and a weight in her stomach. She wants to believe it, but two words hold her back.  _Divorce papers_. She pushes the doubt away, feeling sick over letting the thought cross her mind.

“Yeah, I have that effect on people,” she jokes, wrapping her arms around Root’s waist. Root gives a small chuckle, placing her arms around Shaw’s neck. Shaw gives Root a look over, trying to see anything wrong in her features. However, she looks better than she has in four days. “You have it, too.”

Shaw watches the toothy grin slide onto Root’s face while her cheeks redden. Root spins Shaw’s hair around in her fingers, a million words in her eyes, but not a single one escaping her lips. Finally, Root closes her eyes, composing herself before speaking.

“I’m going to have lunch with Harold tomorrow,” she says, and Shaw can feel her hands tighten around Root’s waist.

“A-again?” Shaw asks, a pit growing in her stomach. Her thoughts flicker to tomorrow: Thursday.  _She’s going to meet with the lawyer._

“Well, you know,” Root replies casually. “It’s been a while.”

“We see them all almost every day,” Shaw counters skeptically, a pained twinge in her heart. She can feel a harsh coil wrapping its way tightly around her chest, making it hard to breathe.

“Do I detect a hint of jealousy?” Root asks, smile widening smugly. Shaw scoffs, and Root rests her forehead on Shaw’s. Root untangles her fingers after a moment, bringing her hands to Shaw’s shoulders, then pushes back a little. “C'mon,” Root says, trailing her hands down her own back, pulling Shaw’s hands away and encasing them in her own. “You look tired.”

 _Tired doesn’t even begin to describe it_ , Shaw thinks, feeling fatigue envelope her. She can feel the knot in her back from the few nights on the couch, and relishes how nice a night in bed would be. She’d been apprehensive to, thinking that Root wouldn’t want her there- around at all. That phone call haunts her, keeping her up at night and consuming her thoughts throughout the day.

Even now, she feels a sliver of doubt, but allows herself to be walked to the bedroom, the warmth of Root’s hands and the sound of her voice more than inviting.

 _What am I going to do?_  Shaw asks herself, mind still reeling between tired clouds. She looks at Root in the dark, the sparkle in her eyes, the affection in her smile. It didn’t feel synonymous with a divorce. _I’ll follow her tomorrow. To see what’s going on._

_______\ We’ll Find You /______

Root walks briskly to a table set outside of a New York café. She stuffs her hands in her jacket pockets, eyes set on Harold as she walks towards him. He spots her, then stands, taking off his hat and holding it to his chest. His eyes are filled with a heart breaking sadness, and he starts towards her, unable to hold his ground a moment more.

He meets her at the edge of the sidewalk, instantly enveloping her in a tight hug. She closes her eyes tightly, feeling a lump forming in her throat.

“Ms. Groves…” His voice is a murmur in her hair as he holds her tight. Finally he pulls back, keeping his face close to look her in the eyes. He sees the pain in her face and his head tilts to the side. “Let’s talk somewhere a little more private,” he suggests, wrapping an arm around her shoulders and walking her away.

They travel down a small, empty side street, stopping at the corner. Harold looks both ways before letting go of Root, standing across from her almost protectively.

“What is- I got your message,” Harold starts, mind going a million different ways. Root gives him a sad smile.

“I know, Harry. You answered it.”

He nods in chagrin. “Right. You said you were getting a divorce. What’s wrong? Is- I know how you feel about Ms. Sh-”

“I’m the one filing, Harold.” He stops, eyes opening wide in shock, and his mouth holds open slightly.

“Why?” Her eyes grow mournful, as if she’s lost the most important thing to her.  _And maybe she has._

“I, uh, that’s what I need to talk to you about,” she tells him, trying to put a smile on for him, but failing pathetically. His eyes are trained on her, giving her his entire attention. “Remember… Remember when Control, uh, she…”

Harold nods, eyes growing more glassy with each minute, all his pain for her showing right on his sleeve.

“She told me… She told me it could- could make my heart explode.” A sigh escapes Harold’s lips, the pressure of the unknown finally escaping him. He knew it now. “It didn’t then, but I, uh, I’ve been having this  _pain_.” Root brings her hand over her chest, allowing her finger to trail over her heart. “I went to the hospital-”

“You went to the  _hospital_?” Harold asks, stunned. “It’s dangerous, it’s-”

“I only went once,” she interrupts him rather harshly, and his mouth clamps shut. “They- they told me I have Traumatic Aortic Rupture. Where the aorta is-”

“Torn or ruptured,” Harold finishes in a mortified awe. “But that- that can kill someone in mere minutes you- you can’t possibly know that.”

Root nods her head sadly, pinpricks of salty water forming at the corners of her eyes. She swallows hard, feeling the scratch in her throat as she tries to speak. “It’s only a small tear. Getting worse but slowly.”

“Then you  _must_  get help, you-”

“I can’t. That requires medical attention, and- like you said- it’s too dangerous.” Her voice is somber, ready to accept the realization before her, and she swipes a tear from her cheek. “I have a month or two.”

“A month or two to  _what_? Bleed out from the inside?” He asks, voice raising in anger and in a plead. Begging her to receive help, to be okay. She bows her head, and he softens. “Hey, hey,” he says to her, bringing his left hand to her upper arm, right to her cheek. “It’s going to be alright. We’ll figure something out.”

“D-… Don’t tell Shaw about this,” Root stammers, looking him dead in the eye. His brow furrows.

“Why not?”

“I’d rather have her hate me-”

“She would  _never_ -”

-than to know.“ She continues as if he’d never spoken, eyes sullen and damp. A dawning expression washes over Harold’s face, and his eyes, too, glisten.

“That’s why you filed for divorce,” he whispers, barely believing the words that escape his lips. She nods, eyes saying that she doesn’t believe them either. Root closes her eyes, willing everything to go away. She can hear her heart beat, like a constant reminder that each pump is one closer to death.

“I don’t want her to know, Harold. I know she doesn’t hurt, but I don’t- I  _can’t_  hurt her like that.”

“And you don’t think an impromptu divorce will do that?” He asks. Root shrugs her shoulders, defeated.

“I have to go down to the law firm,” she tells him, eyes cast down. Then, she shakes her head. “I don’t want to.”

Harold’s nose twitches in a notion of anguish, empathy overcoming him. “I’ll- I’ll walk you there,” he offers, and she envelops him in a tight embrace. She gives a heavy sniffle, fingers gripping to his coat. He rubs her back in comfort, unsure of what to say to make her feel better.  _Is there anything at all?_  He can feel a spite welling in his heart for the woman who did this to her, and anguish that this is happening at all.

“You’re a great friend, Harold,” she says to him, pulling away. She tries once more to smile, but it’s a lost cause. “My best friend. And I’m so…  _happy_  that I could know you.”

They begin to walk out of the small side street, Harold’s arm held around Root’s shoulders in comfort and protection. He turns the corner, looking left to right. Out of the corner of his eye, he can swear he sees the retreating end of a black ponytail.

_____\ Dying Hearts /_____

“Why the  _Hell_  didn’t you tell me you were sick?!” The words reach Root’s ears before she can even close the door. She winces at their brutal intensity, but pushes through with a brave face, turning her eyes to the hallway. Root sees Shaw standing in its center, eyes smoldering and lips pressed together tight.

“Sick?” Root asks, playing dumb. Shaw shakes her head angrily.

“Don’t bullshit with me, I know  _exactly_  what’s going on.” Root’s eyes widen, and a sad song plays within them.

“I couldn’t tell y-”

“You  _couldn’t_ , or you  _wouldn’t_?” Shaw demands, voice raising to a roar.

“Don’t you think this is hard for me  _too_?!” Root screams back. “You might think this is bad, but you have no  _idea_  how it feels to me.”

“Then enlighten me, Root,” Shaw spits out, throwing her hands to her sides and storming further into the apartment. Root follows her with pain and anger in every step.

“Do you think I really  _want_  to get a divorce?! Do you think I  _wanted_  to just  _hide_  it from you?!”

“Well,  _yeah_ ,” Shaw shouts back smartly. “That’s what you told Harold, wasn’t it?” An appalled expression overcomes Root’s face.

“You- you  _followed_  me?!” Root shakes her head, stalking past Shaw and into the living room.

“What was I  _supposed_  to do? I get a random call asking if you still want a divorce and I should just sit tight?!”

“You should  _trust_  me.” Root seethes.

“I see you in pain, and upset; I get some call saying you’re going down to the law firm to pick up papers when you told me you were seeing Harold- I was w- I was  _worried_.” Root’s eyes soften at the outburst, and she feels that pesky lump forming once more in her throat.

“I didn’t want to hurt you.”

“And you thought leaving me for no reason would be painless?!”

“There  _is_  a reason!” Root screams out, then shuts her eyes tight, face twisting in pain. She feels her heartbeat roaring, and can almost see the tear ripping its way down her artery at the strenuous effort.

“One I wasn’t going to know about until you were  _dead_ ,” Shaw spits, then stops. She can feel the heavy cloud of anger drift away, leaving nothing but sad rain in its wake.  _Dead_. She can see the words stabbing Root in the chest, and Root brings her hand to it. She sways on her feet, and Shaw springs forward, steadying her and seating her softly onto the couch.

Root’s eyes are still closed, and a warm tear slips down her cheek. Shaw can feel her heart shattering at the sight, and scoots in closer, yearning for it to stop. The pain, the sickness- everything to just stop. For the Earth to stop; stop its spinning.  _If it doesn’t spin, no time can go by, right? Everything that’s here can just stay here. She can stay here._

Another one drops down, and Shaw brings her hand forward. Before she gets there, Root swipes them away, opening her eyes. She can see anguish written all across Shaw’s face, and she can feel a whole new wave of sadness overtake her. She’d always seen Shaw so stoic, very few emotions ever traveling across her face. But here she is, sitting before her as if the world itself is crashing down around her.

 _She looks ready to cry_ , something Root would never be able to take. It’s a different kind of hopeless, not where you give up, but where you have no idea what else to possibly do.

Root takes a strand of Shaw’s hair between her fingers, concentrating on it for a long time. Once calm, she begins to speak once more.

“It’ll be alright,” Root tells her quietly, not looking Shaw in the eye. “Now that you know, you’ll understand what’s happening. I can stick around for a while… It’ll be alright.”

Shaw turns her head to face Root, eyes intense. “You’re just going to  _give up_?” She asks incredulously.

Root gives her a sad smile. “There’s nothing else to do, Sweetie.” Shaw shakes her head, disbelieving.

“No, no- I’ll find something.  _We’ll_  find something. You’re  _going_  to be alright.” Shaw starts to stand, but Root places a hand on Shaw’s shoulder, keeping her down.

“Let’s just have a normal couple months,” Root says, brushing Shaw’s hair back behind her ear. Shaw sits, numb, staring straight ahead, the only things moving are the gears in her eyes. Root moves in closer, trying to get Shaw’s complete attention. She brings her arms around Shaw’s shoulders, breathing her familiarity in, the fragrance of home. She leans her head on Shaw’s shoulder, looking straight ahead with Shaw. “We can do what we always do. A month or two is a lot of time.”

“Not enough time,” Shaw mutters back, still in a state of shock.  _This can’t be it. This can’t be the end to it all. Not when it’s just begun._

Shaking her head, Shaw shrugs Root away, thinking. Remembering the days when everything was subdued, emotions were nothing more than silent background noise. Now, they are the symphony overtaking her head. A thought clicks into her mind.

“We’re taking you back to a hospital,” Shaw says at last, words grim but determined.

“They can’t do anything at this point, besides, it’s-”

“You might be okay with sitting around and waiting for this thing to bite you in the ass,” Shaw growls heatedly, “but I’m not.”

“I don’t want you spending the next two months breaking your back over trying to fix this. Let’s just spend time normally. Together.” Shaw doesn’t seem to hear her, foot tapping against the hardwood floor a million miles a minute, eyes reading invisible text before her. Her eyes wander through back road trails and memories, scraping up every resource from her first days of medical school and forward. The road stops just a few years previous to now, and Shaw’s lip curls into a sneers.

“I’m gonna  _kill_  her,” Shaw snarls with daggers for words and bullets for eyes. “I  _swear_ , I’m gonna-”

“Who?” Root asks, worry and confusion in her voice.

“Control!” Shaw bellows, springing to her feet. “I’m going to find her, and  _when_  I do-”

“What?” Root asks icily. “What  _good_  is that going to do?” Shaw’s jaw is clenched tight, hands balled into fists, insides on fire. Aggression being the only way she knows to express how she feels, a full blown tempest of rage swirls around her, deadly at a mere touch. But, turning back to see Root’s eyes, the winds all stop. She feels deflated, all the air let out of her until she is absolutely nothing.

With a sigh, Shaw flops back onto the couch, resting her head against the top of the backrest to stare at the ceiling.

“There is a surgery procedure to fix it,” Shaw says silently, more to herself than Root. “Just get in and get out and be done.”

“What do you propose?” Root asks, a humorous hint in her desolate voice. “We hold up an entire hospital?”

“Not like it’s something we  _can’t_  do,” Shaw replies, eyes serious and dark.

“I’m not going to let you-  _any_  of you- risk your identities over this. I’m not going.” Her words are shaky with sadness, yet defiant and stern. Shaw rolls her head to the side, looking at Root with eyes of wicked humor.

“I’ll drag you by your  _hair_ , if that’s what it takes.”

“Brutal,” Root coos, leaning over to lay her head on Shaw’s chest. Shaw lets out a short laugh.

“If you wanted things your way, you shouldn’t have picked such a hard ass to spend your life with.”

“Whatever’s left of it,” Root mutters darkly, and Shaw’s brow creases distastefully.

“There’s a lot left of it,” Shaw assures both Root and herself. She lets her chin rest on the top of Root’s head, bring her arms around Root’s waist. She feels her heart twist in pain, but also jump with hope. “You can’t get rid of me  _that_  easily.”


	2. Dying Hearts (the last little piece)

_____\ Person of Interest /_____

The first month had gone by quickly, like every day was only an hour. And now, their time was running up. It was a thirty day drought, the lake of hope drying up into a small puddle, lushes forest of strength withered away to nothing more than barren sand.

Root was dying.

She was growing more and more sluggish with each passing day, her lively glow replaced with a pallid tint. Root became easily fatigued, and that led to loss of appetite. Shaw insisted Root stay off the field for a while. Root agreed on one condition, that she could still work from the station.

It always left a new incision on Shaw’s heart, leaving Root there nearly every day to help Reese and Lionel. More numbers started trickling in once more, and although Shaw protected them well, her mind was never truly in it. All she could think about was Root.

Shaw thought of anything- any plot or scheme. She’d devised ideas of getting Root treatment, by will or by force. If only there was a way to donate arteries, Shaw would think with each perpetrator she took down. _Hell, it doesn’t even have to be one of them. I’d give it myself._  Shaw, too, had been growing sick, but a different kind of disease ails her.

Grief. Heavy like boulders and loud as thunder, this illness called Grief consumed her. It felt like pneumonia and strep throat and the flu all in one. It keeps her up at night, and gives her vivid dreams when she does manage to sleep. Flashes of Control, teeth like daggers in a Cheshire Cat grin, eyes hollowed out and filled with Hell’s flames, syringes for fingers and a blood curdling laugh. The laugh of a killer; of a demon. Or it would be Root, icy and pale, eyes closed in a way Shaw somehow knew they would never reopen; chest still, and deathly silent, not even the faintest sound of a heartbeat in the empty surroundings. Just the empty shell of her wife.

Most nights, she couldn’t- wouldn’t- sleep. Instead, she’d roll over on her side and watch Root. She’d see the slight fluttering of her eye lashes, or the stirring of her hand; she’d listen to Root’s breathing, laying close enough that she could almost pretend to hear Root’s heart beat. Those nights were peaceful but solitary, the darker troubles always slinking out like monsters from under the bed by the end of the night.

This was one of those sleepless nights, and as the sun begins to rise, Shaw wearily fights off the last of the dark’s demons. The sun lifts higher into the sky, bathing Root’s sleeping face in gold and orange rays. It shines off of her brown waves, allowing her to glow in seraphic grandeur. She looks like a sleeping angel, enough to the point where she could actually be just that. Not there at all, merely a spirit resting her wings.

Shaw reaches out a hand, letting the back side of it trail lightly down Root’s jaw line, assuring her that Root is real.

Root stirs at the touch, eyes scrunching tightly closed at first before opening wide and blinking a few times. Letting her head loll to the side, she sees Shaw and smiles.

“You should really get some sleep,” Root tells her with warm eyes. But it’s the only thing warm about her. Shaw’s hand lingers at Root’s neck, feeling how cool her skin is to the touch.

“Maybe another time,” Shaw replies, and Root’s eyes drift close. Then, a thought grabs her, and she opens them once more.

“You cold?” She asks.

“Yeah,” Shaw lies, tugging the blanket up around them. She can see the acute worry melt away from Root’s features, her muscles no longer tense. Shaw’s phone rings from the bedside table, and she groans.

She has half a mind to ignore it, but in the end she rolls away, hand groping for the cell. Once within her fingertips, she draws it in, reading the message on the screen.

Harold: Hospital for Special Surgery. 535 E 70 Street. Twelve minutes.

Shaw darts up in bed, nerves screaming and heart thumping loudly in her chest. She reads it again, fighting off the anxious shake in her mind. _This is it._

Like breaking free from chains, Shaw springs to life, pulling on a pair of pants and a jacket before throwing a similar wardrobe at Root. It hits her square in the nose, and she grunts in surprise.

“What is it?” Root asks, slipping out of bed and starting to dress. Shaw doesn’t hear her, her thoughts are too loud.

 _It’s a twenty minute drive, at least,_ she thinks to herself, swiping the car keys hastily from the kitchen counter. She unlocks her phone quickly to send a message.

Me: Who else?

The seconds stretch like minutes, and she taps her foot impatiently. Finally, it rings.

Harold: Me, John, Lionel

With some relief, Shaw stows the phone away, coming back to the bedroom to grab Root. She sees herself in the mirror. A calm, unreadable expression; stoic eyes and a neutral lip. Nothing like how she feels on the inside. On the inside she is shaking, eyes wild with a panicked smile. This is it. But, on the outside, she shows not a thing.

“Sameen, what’s going-”

“I’ll explain in the car,” Shaw interrupts, taking Root’s hand and dragging her to the door.  _Eleven minutes; we have eleven minutes._ She pulls Root down the three flights of stairs, then across the street to her car. In a matter of seconds, the engine is started, and they’re pulling away. Shaw pushes all her weight to the gas, car screaming as she rounds the corner and onto the busy street.

_Ten minutes._

“Where are we going?” Root asks, confused but unfazed. Against Shaw’s earlier assumption, Root doesn’t seem scared at the sudden outburst, but rather indifferent, not questioning Shaw’s intentions.

“Hospital.”

Now, Root tenses. “Why?” Her question is slow and cautious, hand gripped around the door’s handle as if she’s ready to tear it open and escape.

“Doctor’s in town,” Shaw answers with a small smirk, pleased at how collected and sly her voice sounds.

“And you’re just going to… Take him at gun point?” Root asks, humored conversation in her tone, although her eyes are murderous. Shaw gives a small chuckle.

“You know me too well,” she says, and can see Root’s jaw clench from the corner of her eye. “But, since this was a joint effort, we’re doing things  _Harold’s_ way.”

“ _Harold’s_ in on this, too?” Root asks in exasperation. Shaw checks the clock.

“And your two favorite detectives,” Shaw informs her, eyes back on the road.

_Six minutes._

“Usually I’m up for a good scheme, but not when none of you are thinking of the  _repercussions_ ,” Root sighs out, letting her head droop against the headrest.

“It’ll be fine,” Shaw assures her. “We’ve had this worked out for a while.” Root raises her eyebrows, pushing herself into a better position to scrutinize Shaw.

 _Five minutes_. Shaw hits the gas harder.

They pull into the hospital without a moment to spare, and Root sees as the three men come to meet them in the parking lot.

“And you’re  _sure_  about this?” Shaw asks Harold, sharp danger in her voice. He nods.

“Positive.” Shaw watches his eyes, pushing herself deep into them to make sure there is no lie. Then, she brings her eyes over to Root.

“Okay.”

“Okay,  _what_?” Root asks. “What are you all  _doing_?” Her eyes pass between Shaw and Harold, growing angrier with each transition. Then, her hands are behind her back, and icy metal clinks around her wrists.

“You didn’t  _tell_ her?” John asks, hands freezing. Shaw gives him the shrug of her shoulders, and Harold sighs.

“The specialist comes in once a month to the hospital to check in- just random days. We’ve been tracking his movements around the city, and he’s here now.” Harold pauses, looking down at his wrist watch. “Just arriving, actually. I got into the system, and scheduled you in first thing. They shouldn’t know the difference.”

“Then… why the cuffs?” Root asks, turning to the side so he can see.

“If the police are bringing you in,” John answers, and her head turns swiftly to his, “do you  _really_ think they’ll be asking too many questions?”

“By the way,” Lionel adds from behind Reese. “If anyone asks, you’re awaiting trial. Gotta keep are person of interest healthy, ya know.”

Root bows her head, everything feeling too sudden. It feels surreal, that any of this could be happening, and she grows light headed with the thoughts swirling around.

“Ready?” John asks, looking to each person. After a silent moment, he takes one of Root’s shoulders; Fusco grabs the other.

Shaw watches them walk off, eyes never leaving Root’s dark hair as it bounces around her shoulders. She wants to tell them to stop one more minute, just so she can talk to her- assure her. Or not even speak, but to walk her to the door; let Root know she cares. _I never let her know._

Root looks back over her shoulder at the double doors, and she gives Shaw an award winning smile. _I’ll let her know later_ , Shaw decides, eyes losing sight of Root as the trio step inside. _Because she’ll be here later._


End file.
